


Blue

by rev_eeriee



Series: Overtime [2]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Loop, Angst, Be careful reading this it's dark, Despair, Dismemberment, Hallucinations, Happy Birthday Momota here's some A+ Suffering for you, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Insanity, M/M, Not Really Character Death, OR IS IT, Obsessive Behavior, Oh and also there is uhh... a rape scene, Suicide, mental breakdowns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-01-12 06:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18441116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rev_eeriee/pseuds/rev_eeriee
Summary: Prequel to Fixing What's Broken--“Ouma-kun, are you feeling better?”The voice snapped Ouma out of his daze, looking up numbly at the Ultimate Detective, who was staring at him with genuine worry in his eyes. Kneeling down in front of the crate he was sitting on, Saihara in his pinstriped glory held his hand, in a manner that would have flustered him any other day if it wasn’t for the despair that was creeping in and nibbling at his edges. Ouma stared at their joined hands, then back up to those brilliant pale gold eyes, wondering—if he looked deep enough, would he see the blue there, too?---AKA. Timeloop AU. Amidst the broken time, Ouma holds himself together.





	1. Ignorance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm alive... I suppose. 
> 
> The past two months have been extremely stressful for me, mental health wise. I've been... ah, doing work for my mental health. Consulting psychs, trying out meds, signing up for therapy- all the shit. So I'm sorry if I'm not active as often.
> 
> This is more of a vent write than anything else. I've wanted to post something for Momota's birthday, and somehow I ended up with... suffering??? Haha. Sorry not sorry. This AU's story has been in my mind for a long time and I'm glad I finally managed to add some of my planned lore to it.
> 
> This is a prequel to Fixing What's Broken. There's a chance that you won't actually understand what's happening here if you haven't read that first.

****Hands.

Hands touching, feeling. Hands all over him. Hands.

Hands squeezing, hands _hurting,_ hands choking—

Hands.

Ouma hated hands.

Ouma hated—

“Ouma-kun, are you feeling better?”

The voice snapped Ouma out of his daze, looking up numbly at the Ultimate Detective, who was staring at him with genuine worry in his eyes. Kneeling down in front of the crate he was sitting on, Saihara in his pinstriped glory held his hand, in a manner that would have flustered him any other day if it wasn’t for the despair that was creeping in and nibbling at his edges. Ouma stared at their joined hands, then back up to those brilliant pale gold eyes, wondering—if he looked deep enough, would he see the blue there, too?

Hands. Hands holding hands. Ouma pulled back his own.

“I’m fine,” he whispered.

His entire body ached. From the hickeys and bites on his neck to the burning pain of his ass, he felt like he could stay right here, seated on this crate, forever.

He was too tired now, too _numb—_ the anger had passed and all it left him was a sense of emptiness.

He could still remember Momota’s voice. Momota’s hands. Momota’s giggle.

And then pink. So much pink. Ouma’s breath hitched as the memories of what just transpired a few minutes ago rushed back. Why… why, why, why, _why?!_

(How did things end up like this?)

He looked past Saihara to stare at the corpse on the warehouse floor, body feeling number and number by the second.

Magenta eyes stared back. They weren’t blue anymore.

* * *

_“Once upon a time…”_

* * *

Ouma’s fifth timeline started like this.

“I’m Ouma Kokichi, the Ultimate Supreme Leader!”

Sixteen students in the gym, as always. A Momota Kaito that stared at him just a little bit too intensely. Breath hitching when their hands met in a handshake, magenta eyes lighting up like he was staring at the beauty of the entire cosmos upon him—immediately, Ouma could tell that something was _wrong._ The Supreme Leader prided himself with knowing people well, and in all of his past four timelines Momota had never reacted quite like this. It was… uncomfortable, to say the least, for Momota to look at him with so much love and _adoration._

Naturally, Ouma built all his defenses up—because what the _fuck_ was that? Why was this timeline’s Momota so different? He didn’t know, he didn’t know a lot of things, but he knew this wasn’t how things were supposed to be.

But that wasn’t the end of Momota’s strangeness, oh no.

Ouma didn’t know how to explain it. Being welcomed with an awkward handshake and an almost crazed laugh was jarring enough, but it was the Momota’s overall demeanor that really bothered him. Momota was mostly acting like usual, yes, but Ouma was a good liar, and he could tell all those smiles and chuckles and inspirational stuff he spouts out were no longer genuine— they were all lies. It was like something took away the Ultimate Astronaut he knew and replaced it with someone else— _something else_ — and it was as bothersome as it was _creepy_ , bringing chills down Ouma’s spine.

Because for all the punching and the _killing_ and the bad blood between them, Ouma didn’t actually dislike Momota Kaito. He was a good person and a fine partner for all the past deaths Ouma had endured. And yet… this person, this _thing_ in front of him—it didn’t feel like Momota Kaito at all. Merely a subpar imitation of him.

After the announcement of the killing game, everyone else was evidently concerned, and for good reason. Ouma less so, because he had heard all these things before. To his wonder, Momota didn’t seem to be too bothered either, and despite everyone else’s eager move to check out the manhole Gokuhara had found, Momota tried to pull him in a corner, asking him if they could talk.

“No,” Ouma replied, all too quickly. How could he not? He was wary, suspicious _._ He didn’t know this person at all. For all he knew, this wasn’t Momota Kaito _at all_. The Ultimate Astronaut’s expression froze into an eerie blankness before he smiled sadly and said he understood. Ouma didn’t understand what he meant by that, but Ouma babbled something about meeting up with his beloved Saihara and the others, telling Momota to follow along with the rest of the group.

Momota didn’t.

Not checking up on him afterwards was probably one of Ouma’s biggest regrets.

* * *

 

_“There was... a king! Or a horse, maybe.”_

* * *

 Momota was staring at him.

Ouma swallowed the nervousness that was stirring at his throat. Momota was there on the other side of the table again, watching him.

He couldn’t stand this new Momota. This weird Momota, creepy Momota, _scary_ Momota— the Supreme Leader squirmed and leaned even closer to Saihara’s side, who noticed his unease and asked what was wrong. Ouma simply shrugged. From his peripheral vision, he watched magenta eyes narrow, before looking away.

Ouma wondered what was different. He wasn’t sure what was happening here. It was so _weird_. He didn’t notice anyone else in their group ever changing like this before. And the fact that the change was so silent and yet so drastic— Ouma even tried talking to Saihara about it, but the detective only said that perhaps he was overthinking it.

Because _of course_ only someone like Ouma, who had been looping for five timelines now, could tell. Only Ouma knew what the original Momota-chan was actually like. Saihara didn’t know what the Ultimate Astronaut was _supposed_ to act like. He didn’t know how wrong… how _erroneous_ this new Momota was.

Ouma didn’t want to deal with this anymore.

He swore he’ll get out this time, after all.

This time he’ll figure it out! Four timelines already passed but he was determined. Amami and Akamatsu already died, but that can’t be helped.

After breakfast, Momota tried to approach him again. Tried to ask if they could talk again. Trying to insist that they _should._ Ouma couldn’t help it when he said the words. Words that were born out of fear, words that only seemed to make the already empty look in Momota’s eyes even emptier.

“Don’t touch me. There’s something wrong with you. You _disgust_ me.”

Momota laughed it off. Ouma ran away.

He probably should have tried to hear him out. Maybe if he did, things wouldn’t have ended up the way they did.

* * *

_“There was this hero, or more like a crazed wolf, who did something really, really terrible to him.”_

* * *

 The next morning, he wondered if he should apologize. The insult _did_ come out of nowhere, and in his experience, getting into bad blood with the astronaut so early in the killing game never ended well. If he befriends him, would he be able to find out more about what the hell was actually up with him? Because Ouma refused to believe he was acting strangely without any reason at all. What if Momota was actually connected to the mastermind, though? Or worse, what if he was the mastermind himself?

There was also another possibility that Ouma didn’t want to think about, but still managed to worm into his mind regardless. What if… just _what if—_

_What if Momota-chan is looping too…?_

“S-Shut up! I’m not going to do that!”

Ouma paused, eyes widening as he immediately pushed himself behind a nearby bush, eager to listen in. Momota was in the courtyard pulling at the grass for some reason, way too early in the morning. He sounded angry, distraught. The first genuine emotion that Ouma had seen him express.

“It’s not his fault. He just… he just doesn’t remember. It’s fine. Next time, it’ll be _fine.”_

Curiously, Ouma peered from his hiding spot, trying to see who Momota was talking to. But there was nobody there.

_Ah..._

Momota’s face was distorted into an expression of conflict, large hand grasping at the grass to throw it off somewhere beside him, before reaching up to cover his ears. He was shaking. He was crying.

“No, no, no no nononono! He loves me! He’ll stay! He said he will! Get out of my head! You’re not even real!”

… _Momota-chan is crazy._

* * *

 

_“...do you think the horse should hate him?”_

* * *

 

_Momota-chan is crazy… Momota-chan is crazy!_

Hands.

Hands touching, feeling. Hands all over him. Hands.

Hands squeezing, hands _hurting,_ hands choking—

“Let go, you fuck—!” Ouma wheezed against the hand gripping tight at his throat as he was pushed against the wall of the dormitory lobby, thrashing against the forceful grip as he tried to bit off the body that caged him in. Panic. There was so much _panic—_ overtaking his entire being, memories he had long buried inside him resurfacing as hands grabbed at every part of his body, feeling him up, making him feel sick—  
  
(Momota was touching.)

Ouma hated hands.

(Momota was giggling.)

Ouma _hated_ Momota.

Unbidden, the tears came. Ouma bit his lip as he once again felt like the powerless boy he grew up to be, pushing against resistance to no avail, begging for everything to stop. He could barely register what was happening as hands tore at his clothes and grabbed at his hips and _that disgusting lovesick grin_ filled the entirety of his vision. Feeling many different shades of pain as he listened to words that didn’t make sense, something that sounded so very similar to ‘I love you’, but couldn’t possibly have been said. Because love wasn’t like this. You wouldn’t hurt someone you love like _this_ . It hurt, it hurt, everything hurt and Ouma had never ever wanted to just fucking _die_ until that moment.

_Momota-chan is crazy, Momota-chan is crazy— I hate you please stop fuck oh god STOP STOP STOP!_

For a moment, he found the courage to _glare_ at his attacker. For a moment, he thought his eyes were blue. But he didn’t have enough time to examine the strangeness of it. He was too busy trying not to shatter to pieces.

When lips pressed against his, Ouma bit _hard._ He did everything he could to kick and thrash and punch and _scream—_ but nobody came to his rescue. He was taken right then and there, against the wall, by a _monster_ who claimed to love him, by a monster who got off on his suffering. Ouma had never hated a person more. He had never _despised_ a person more— no, was this even a person? No! This monster, this _animal—_

By the time it all ended, Ouma had fantasized of a million different ways he would _love_ to kill Momota Kaito. He never had the chance to try.

Because as soon as he fell limp against the floor, Momota stared at him with those tortured magenta eyes, and the next thing he knew the wolf was running away.

Leaving him broken on the floor.  

* * *

_“The horse hated him. He hated him so, so much. So he went to his good friend Sai—ah, Shumai, rather—who’s this uhh... rabbit. Yeah, he’s a rabbit.”_

* * *

It was Ouma himself who picked up his pieces.

Everything hurt. Everything felt suffocating. The first thing he did after he finally managed to pick himself up from the floor was walk up the stairs, go back inside his room and take a shower. Because that has always been how he coped with these things, hasn’t it? He just wanted to feel clean, or at least less dirty. To think he had deluded himself that as horrible this repeating timeline was, at least he wouldn’t get violated like that again. At least the food was good, at least he had a place to sleep, at least he didn’t have to wonder when his next meal would be. At least he didn’t have to do questionable work to make sure nine other people wouldn’t starve. At least, at least—

He was wrong. _Nothing_ was good in this academy. He should have known. He should have known—

So what now? What was he supposed to do? Dissociate and mope inside his room for the rest of the day? No, no— Momota was still out there. Crazy Momota, as he’d come to call him. That guy was dangerous. That guy shouldn’t be out there. What if he hurts someone else?

Ouma couldn’t breathe as he pulled his clothes back on and limped aimlessly out of the dormitories. Saihara. He needed to find Saihara. He was the only person he could trust around here, after all. Saihara… Saihara—

As he was walking through the courtyard he felt someone touch his shoulder from behind. Gasping, he immediately turned around in panic, realizing how stupid he had been. Momota was here, Momota was here again to hurt him! His breaths hitched as he stumbled, whimpering when his toe stubbed against the floor. Ah, he was barefoot. He didn’t even realize—

Careless, careless, careless, he was so careless! He was so _tired._ But he can’t afford to pass out, he can’t afford to be a victim again— _please no just please don’t let me be hurt again._ It took him a moment to realize that he was outright crying, right there in the middle of the courtyard, and familiar pale gold eyes were staring at him worriedly, concern brimming in its depths.  
  
“Ouma-kun… are you alright?” Saihara asked.

No, no, he’s not alright. No, no, he’s _never_ been alright.

The world was cruel to people like Ouma Kokichi.

“No,” he found himself saying, his entire body shaking. “M-Momota-chan… Momota-chan, he— we gotta find him. O-Or warn everyone about him! He’s a maniac, he’s a monster, he’s crazy! Saihara-chan, you have to believe me—”

“Please calm down, Ouma-kun,” Saihara replied nervously. “You’re hyperventilating. Please calm down, and try to explain to me what happened… slowly.”

Ouma obliged. He took deep breaths, and Saihara’s eyes widened in shock as he told the tale. As soon as it was over, Saihara looked incredibly overwhelmed, but he still offered his comfort to him, should it ever help.

He cried against a pinstriped jacket and a sturdy chest for far longer than he was willing to admit.

(Maybe if he didn’t cry so hard, they would have started moving sooner. Maybe if he hurried along, he wouldn’t have to watch Momota butcher himself. But that wasn’t what happened. Even though Ouma wished _none_ of this ever happened, this was reality, and this was their world—)

Somewhere in the sea of computer codes, someone was having too much fun.

* * *

 

_“They decided they’d confront the wolf, but they couldn’t find him anywhere. So they looked, and the horse found him in this warehouse.”_

* * *

 

Saihara wanted to stay together, but Ouma insisted that they should split up, if only to find Momota faster and warn more people as fast as possible. Ouma promised that he’d bolt and run the moment he sees the astronaut. Saihara didn’t look like he approved of this setup, but he had no other choice but to agree. Time was of the essence, and Ouma’s sobbing had wasted more than enough time.  
  
He didn’t what pushed him to look into the warehouse that day. Perhaps it was to find if there was something he could get for self defense. Ouma was still shaken by the experience, but he was no bumbling baby. This wasn’t his first rodeo, unfortunately. He was confident that he could handle himself better now, especially after having such a good cry. His body still hurt but fuck if he’ll let that stop him. He was Ouma Kokichi, goddammit. _Nothing_ can stop him.

Or at least that’s what he told himself until the puddles of blood against the warehouse floor made him freeze.

Pink. There were puddles of pink. Perhaps he should have just left right then and there. But he had to admit he was worried. What if Momota, deranged as he was, had hurt someone else?

He followed the trail, a trail of pink that led him deeper into the warehouse. In the distance someone was humming. Giggling. Ouma froze, eyes widening.

( _Run_.)

Ouma couldn’t. His feet was bolted to the floor. But it’s not liked that mattered, anyways. The man wasn’t paying attention to him. He was sitting down on the floor, looking like he was having the time of his life, his hand moving over… _something._ Ouma was scared shitless, his chest overwhelmed with the stirring fear and anger threatening to mix into an explosion of ugly emotions. He wasn’t safe here, he should leave. He wasn’t safe here, he should _run._ And yet all he could do was stare dumbly at him, unable to wrap his head around what he was seeing.

The bastard was holding a saw.

(Ouma’s breath hitched.)

He was sawing… _something_.

(He wanted to throw up.)

He was sawing… his own hand.

_(What kind of nightmare was this?)_

And somewhere not too far from him was a lump of flesh, vaguely familiar, because how could Ouma not recognize it?

_(Why are you acting like this?)_

That something was inside Ouma not too long ago.

_(What is pushing you that far?)_

Momota’s pants were bloody, especially around the crotch.

_(What… happened to you?)_

Ouma opened his mouth.

“M-Momota-chan…?”

The wolf turned his head, realizing his presence. Magenta eyes widened.

Bleeding, roughly bitten lips grinned, and yet those eyes were crying.

_Momota-chan is crazy._

* * *

_"Do you remember the rest of the story?”_

* * *

 

_How… did things end up like this?_

Ouma didn't know, but that wasn’t surprising. Ouma didn't know a lot of things. But as the sticky neon pink flowed down wine-colored hair and spilled all over his legs, he couldn’t help but wonder if god must be playing tricks on him. Cruel, so _cruel_ — it wasn't enough that he was already stuck in a time loop with little to no information of how to leave, no— the fucker just loved to make sure that he was  completely shattered, through and through.

Ouma took a shaky breath as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat, to no avail. Everything was just too overwhelming. Too jarring. Too _much_.

Ouma has stopped functioning. Stopped thinking. Everything stood at a standstill, as if the universe held its breath alongside him. He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t… _couldn’t—_

Dumbly, The Supreme Leader stared down at the broken boy before him, face twisted with guilt even in death. His screams of pain and anguish rang in Ouma’s head, and even though they had stopped he couldn’t run away from them. Apologizing, begging for forgiveness—sobbing with those magenta eyes alight with crazed light, laughing in _relief_ as the cold sharp knife tore at his insides. Momota was… Momota was—

_Dead._

Ouma's head was screaming, but his body seemed unable to process his shock. Momota was in pieces. Momota was in _literal pieces._ Nothing in the world made sense anymore. Even though he had the chance to, Momota didn’t hurt him anymore. He hurt _himself._ While apologizing. While crying. While _begging—_

**_(“I’m sorry, Kokichi, I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t mean it—”)_ **

_Put him back together._

**(“They made me do it. It wasn’t me, I swear it wasn’t me— I would never— oh god it was me, please Kokichi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, they made me do it, I swear!”)**

_PUT HIM BACK TOGETHER!_

Ouma’s shaking hands lifted to grip at his hair, still drenched by the sticky, pink liquid.  Everything was pink. Everywhere he looked… was _pink._ Even Ouma was pink. The pink was so bright he felt like his retinas were burning. Someone was crying. Someone was laughing. It wasn’t Momota because Momota was dead. _Dead!_ How dare him… how fucking dare him be dead! How dare him… make Ouma feel—

_Why would you do that why would you care why would you cry for my pain why would you be frightened for my safety after what you did YOU MONSTER how dare you—_

Ouma gasped. He felt like his entire mind was being ripped apart. He was going _insane,_ because nothing made sense. Why would someone… do that to themselves? Why would they… go so far—

_WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! ANSWER ME!_

Momota couldn’t. He’s dead. He killed himself. He… killed himself… for Ouma.

The reality of the situation made Ouma sob. He felt sick. As he cradled the broken corpse of the boy before him, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was his fault. It was his fault because he drove him to this point. If he forgave him, would he have stopped? If he forgave him, would he have forgiven _himself?_

But why would Ouma forgive him? That didn’t make sense.

 _He_ **violated** _you. He deserved it._

… or did he?

Hatred. So much hatred swirling inside him, for the person who made him into _that whore_ again. Hatred… so much hatred for the person who made him feel subhuman again. And yet… there was pity. There was so much pity. And conflict. It felt _so wrong_ to want to wreak vengeance upon him, when Momota already did the honors himself.

Ouma couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. He was completely stumped on what to do.

Because Ouma didn’t understand. Ouma didn’t know, but that wasn’t surprising. Ouma didn't know a lot of things.

He didn’t even know… the nature of this world. Now that he realized it, he was never really any closer to getting out of this nightmare was he?

There was just one thing that kept playing in his head. A thought that was floating around him. A mystery to be solved, one that Ouma couldn’t really confront at the moment, but made sure to file away in his head for later.

 _They made me do it,_ Momota had said. Ouma wondered who **they** are. Are **they** having fun? Is this fun?

Seeing Ouma shatter, is this _fun?_

Ouma closed his eyes.

Maybe it was. Games are fun after all. And at this moment, more than ever, Ouma realized something, and with that sick epiphany, he _laughed._

**_Everything is just one sick game to someone._ **


	2. Turbulence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been done for a loooong time but... I simply didn't have the energy to post. 
> 
> So now its here. Have fun? 
> 
> This has always been the hidden truth for the AU all along, and I'm actually surprised I managed to shut up for so long about it. I wanna... write more for this, but only if life would permit me, I guess.

_ Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.  _

The clock was ticking. Over and over. Endlessly. (Endlessly?)

Momota sat in the corner of his room, staring at floors dripping with blood, arms that were scratched up to the point that they were merely pools of pink, dripping down the floor—tickling with a faint sound, a sound that was  _ so pleasant,  _ Momota found himself humming. 

Nails biting skin. More and more and more of his flesh being torn apart. He was giggling. The pain felt good, matching the one squeezing at his chest, the blood on his arms mirroring the ones dripping down his lips. More and more and more and  _ more.  _ Ouma,  _ his Ouma, _ would be horrified. He would be  _ so mad  _ that Momota was doing this to himself. But Ouma didn’t care this timeline, so Momota didn’t, either. 

More and more and more and  _ more.  _

Momota giggled harder. Everything felt weird, fuzzy. It was funny. He scratched at his arms  _ harder _ . Every laceration, every slice through skin, every arrow sticking in his hand. Every stab, every suicide, every drop of poison, every kiss of  _ death— _ Momota wished everything would just stay on him. He wished everything would just squeeze him into a bloody pulp—just like Kokichi under the press! A lovely pink glop of organs and death! Ah,  _ ah _ ! Maybe this timeline he could  _ beg  _ Ouma to kill him instead! Feel the cold embrace of two steel plates kissing his back and his chest, until his skull pops and his brain gets squished and he couldn’t feel the pain in his heart anymore— if Ouma didn’t love him, he should just kill him already! Right now,  _ right now! _

Right now? Where was Ouma right now? Maybe in his room? Maybe in  _ Saihara’s  _ room? He and the detective seemed to be awfully  _ chummy  _ lately. Momota wouldn’t be surprised. No… no! He wasn’t jealous at all. That’s stupid. Momota wasn’t jealous at all. He was just… sad. Betrayed? Ouma promised he’d stay by  _ his  _ side after all. Momota’s, not Saihara’s. Ouma wasn’t being fair at all. It wasn’t… he wasn’t… 

_ He doesn’t remember,  _ Momota reminded himself, but it only made him more bitter.  _ Why  _ was Momota the only one who remembered? Why did Ouma keep forgetting? Why… why, why, why, why?! 

_ Not fair!  _ His head screamed, and he felt the urge to scream with it.  _ Not fair, not fair, not fair not fair notfairnot—! _

_ Stop,  _ he warned himself. The flurry of thoughts ceased, like a cork on a bottle of soda, but the pressure remained. All he did was patch the hollow hole inside his chest. It did nothing to soothe the poison in his veins. 

He was just…  _ so tired.  _ Everything was so tiring. He had killed and he had  _ died  _ and he had killed over and over again, and even now, after everything… all he wanted was for everything to finally end— 

It was one of  _ those _ timelines. A  _ bad  _ one. Momota made so bad a first impression, he wanted to cry. To curl up in a ball and  _ die.  _ Why did he have through all of this? He just wanted to feel less alone. To have Kokichi by his side. And yet… and yet— 

_It’s your fault, dumbass._ Of course it was. Of course Ouma wouldn’t react well to being creepily stared at, especially at their first meeting. But it was a trap that Momota almost always falls into. Especially after the last timeline, where he saw him _die_ underneath the press _again._ When he killed him underneath the press _again_. Momota just missed him so much already, was that so bad? He loved him so much, was that so bad? So what if he’s a bit creepy?! Ouma used to accept him anyway! Ouma should just accept him _every time!_ Because he promised! He _promised._

_ Ah, this sucks. Ah, I want to die.  _ Ah, he wanted to be with Ouma again. To hug Ouma again. To kiss Ouma again. Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma…!

There was a rapping at his door. Momota paused, blinking softly, expression blank. He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, the glow in the dark screen staring back at him-  **11:03 PM.** It was already nighttime. Who would even-  _ oh no…! _

Panic. It must have been one of his classmates! Did he make an appointment and forget it again? He immediately started rubbing his arm against his shirt, trying to make himself presentable. He had to act alright. For the group! For  _ Shuuichi.  _ Because Saihara would need his help soon, right? Akamatsu just died, and Saihara would be in pieces, and Momota had to help him get over his inferiority complex or they’re all doomed, they’ll all die, and everyone will scream as they all pop like ants, and Momota didn’t want to see that anymore— 

He cleaned himself up as best as he could. He pulled his jacket on top of a new shirt, hoping it would hide the blood in the darkness of the night. He was stumbling, panicking, but he needed to act  _ not crazy.  _ He needed to be the group leader! A beacon of hope! Because if he wasn’t… if he wasn’t, then—

Momota whimpered. He cleared his throat, cleared his head— Okay, okay… he was going to do this. Just like Ouma taught him. Keep your expression level, just smile and don’t shudder or shiver or shake and you’ll be fine—  _ “My beloved is a talented liar and actor, and that actually isn’t bad at all—”  _

_ “Don’t touch me. There’s something  _ wrong  _ with you. You  _ disgust  _ me.”  _ Ouma spat earlier that morning. 

Haha… hah… wasn’t that funny? Ouma was such a  _ liar _ . He couldn’t possibly mean it— 

(Lilac eyes filled with suspicion—)

No, no… he promised. He promised he’d stay with Momota  _ always _ ! He told him he loved him too. He said he did!

(Pale hands clutching at Saihara, pulling him away, glancing at Momota back warily—) 

Ouma saw him look shaken.  _ Heartbroken.  _ Ouma didn’t care. But he wasn’t cruel! Not at all. It’s just that… it’s just that because Ouma can’t remember. He can’t remember  _ everything  _ they’ve been through. Why  _ can’t  _ he remember?! He should! Why was Momota the only one who remembers? That’s so unfair. Unfair.  _ Unfair!  _

Momota opened the door of his room, trying to keep a smile on his face. Whoever it was, he was going to greet them nice and well! No, he didn’t smell like blood, they just imagined it. No, his arms didn’t sting  _ so bad _ , he was fine.

He was fine… he was fine—

“You surprise me, you know? What’s this, your seventy-fifth timeline? You should’ve been completely shattered  _ a long time ago _ .” 

Momota paused, frowning. Who… what? His head was ringing. There was a girl outside the door, unfamiliar. Just staring at her made his head  _ hurt,  _ like it was being pounded into. Information, new information— information that  _ shouldn’t exist—  _ she twirled her cellphone around her hands, smiling eagerly at him.

“Aww, can’t the poor wittle spaceboy stand my existence? I am god, after all. I almost feel bad for hurting my kouhai with my shining presence! But I’m so bored. So hey, hey, hey~!” 

Momota was frozen. He barely realized he couldn’t move. Something bad was happening. Something… huh? What the hell was this girl talking about?  _ God?  _  Where did she come from? It hurt— Momota gasped, wanting to shut the door but unable to, wanting to keep her out—but then she walked close and held his chin with slender fingers and long fingernails painted crimson, leaning in with a cutesy expression, gorgeous blue eyes pulling him in, somewhere— 

Ah, Momota felt weird. Ah, Momota was falling. What was happening? Where was he again? He was melting.  _ God,  _ he was melting. What, why, how, who,  **_stop—_ **

“So I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you help me, Mo-mo-ta-kun~ ♡ ?”

She leaned in and kissed him.

Everything went black.

* * *

…C̙͕͎̤̜̟a͙͔̟̺̣n̥̝̘ ̯̲y̭̙o̬̙͍u͇̱ ̣h̟̠͚̞̣ea̪̯͕͓̰r̗̠̩͓ ͍̠͉̮̣̭ͅme?̹ ̜̻̦͉̼̙̯C̭̙̬a̲̺̮̗n͎̗͙̺͚ ̰̼̤̬̘ͅa͎̺̞͚̼ny̞̘̣͈̗̱̞o̼n̯͍̖̙̙e̤ ̮̠h̞̯̬e̞a̮̻̹̰r̟͕͈̦ ̱̪̩m̭̹̥̥̗̰̠e̤̜̞̞̤̮?̱̥ ͎̠I̟̗ ̙͓k̲͇̪͖͎n̖o̲̫̘̻w̯ ̩̭s͈͎̥̘͙ome̝͔̖o̘̤̪̩n̼̬͕̙̪e̬̰̲̟̹̗̻’͚̟ͅs̲̬̻ ͕͔͚̟͇t̘̤͉ͅẖ̺̰̭e͚͍̠̫̣̹̼r͕̘͎͍̺̠̠e̙̣̝̙ͅ.̤̭̳̦͈̦ ͖̻̥̯̳͈̜I̠̟̯̬̰ ͙̰̤̖͓̼k̠̣͓̦̻̯n̪̮̱̱ow̦̰̟̫̹̹̩…̘͕ ͍̩͍̩y̱̘̠ͅo̹͇̬͖u’͇r̪̦̤̬̞̠e̲̦̦̻̩ ͎̘o̯̹̱͈u͙̼t ̦̤̥̳͙t̳̤̲̞̮̭̩h̥̦̰̗͈̭e̫͔̮r͇͖̭̤e.̫͓̫ ͚̘̹͙̝͉̪   
͈̼̻̞̝͚̘  
T̩̮̪̯h̹͇͙͔i͉͙̳̳̜ͅs̲͔̜͖̫ͅ wa̗͓̣͎s͙̜̼n̼̙̜̼͔͕͎’̺̘̙̳̘̟t̙̺̘ ̣s̪͚̤̠͈̦͕u̗͕͖ppo̙̹̭̺s̻e͚̰͎͇d̘ t͚̗o͈͙̫͚͍ ͚̗̺̤͙͖̫h͕̹͔̻̤̫ͅa̦͉̗͙ͅͅp̺̙̖͍p̘̤̘̠̠̥̪e̲̭͚n̹.̩͈̝ͅ ͚̩̘̻̲̩̪Ț͕̳h̟̘̪e̱̝̲̖̹̘y̺ ̤̘̖̺͙̖d͉̞͇̼i̥̘̼̙̪͖̹d̻̻̩͎̰̣n̫̜͇̪͙̣̩’̝̖͈͔̭ṯ̲̲̠̭ ̟̜̞̼d̼̝͈̦̪e̥̭͕s͈̙͈̤̝̲e͔̲͍̪̺̬r̜̘v̭̮̘͎e̟̤ ̦̜̮̫̦t̺h̖̖͔̫i̥s̹̖̳̤̗.̭ ̱I̯̩̼͙̝̱ ͕̰may be  p̻͇̬͓r͈̮̜o̟̠̺ͅgr̹̩̟̪̖̥̩a͓̟̣̠m̳m̤̭̩̗̝e͎͖̩̪̱d͈̯ ͈̲̻̤̝͚̲t͚̖̳o͖̼̻̙̖ ̺͖s̫̳̲̟̫͉t̞͈a̦͕̻y̱̣͙ ̯̟o̫̮n̗̰ ͕̞̝t͇̫̜̪̝h̤̠͍̖͇͙e͍̼ ͈̜s̞i̪͕d͔͔͍e̪ḽ̲̻̩̠͎i̯̮̩̖͕n͔͈̯̗̖e̫̜̠̮̰̳s,̼̯̫ ̝̹̲̠͖t̗͓̪̳o̲͇ b̝̝̪̯̪͖e̯̱̰̥lie̺͙v̰̤̹̯̰e͓ͅ ͙̲̠̫t̼̫̲͚̺̯h̞̱͕̤̖ͅa̬̻̠͖͇͈t͎ ͚̻͓̮̤̳ͅt͔̠͖͖ͅh̩͇̮͇̞e̬̟y̥̭̝ ͇̞̞c̠an͙ ̻̼̼̩͎o̫̗̘v͈e̤̘r̞c͚͍͍͔̣͙̥o̰̠̙̮m͕̠͎̼e͕̩̳̥̫͕̠ ̬̤d̼̤͔̣̩̰es̗͓̪͕̟p͎͉̺̮̲ai̲̩̰r͈͍̟͎ ̻̼̬o̙̩̻͎̬̲ͅn̮ ̬t̮̱̪̫̙h͖̗̯͍͈͎̘e͎̩͓̮̘̦ͅi͓̗̩͙̖r̙̹̞̜ ̳̺̪̻͙̟o̮̫̺͉w͎͇̘̹n̗̗͈̣̫…̱̤̲͔̯̖͇ b̹̮̞̭̻̜u̞t͉̩͍̞̯̦̳ ̱̖̼̖̱̭t͎͉̮̺͍̰h͈i͕͙̲̹sͅ ̩͍͍͎͔͍i̪̯͔s̼̟̟ ̙͔̞̞s̻͎̤͚̫i̬m̤̠͚̠̠͇ͅp̝̝͙̝̠l̜̣͓y̯̺̗̯̫̱̮ ͚̳t̻̬̱̬̘o̤̤o ͓̤m͎u͕͔̝̗̥͚c̻̺͚̺h̙̹͕͚̫.̟̞͔̹̦͔ ͉̞̯̻I͚̮̮̗̩ͅt’̝̰̠̟͎̺ͅs͓͓̹͕̩̜ ̠b̫̦e̺͖̮͖͕͚̪e̫̣̞͍ͅn̬̻͉̳̩ ͍s̙̺͎o̟̣̙ ̯͖̰͓̱l͓̰̯͈͔̼̣o͉̬̗ṉ͓̘͕̤ͅg̰͇͚͕͈̼͈.̞̘̫ ̥̰̝͖̦I̖̼ ̠͕͈͚wi̠̤s̪̻h̻ ̺̳̩̦̻̰̣I͕̯̹͓̥ ̩̖̞̹̙c̥̖̥̝͕o̻̼̳̰͈̥u̖̠̤͉̥̟l͇̻̥̼d͉͔͎͔ ͕̬̝͖d̩͕̺̻̱̙͇o̞ ̠̭s̘o̮me͕̣͕̭t͕͙h̩̟͕͚̜i̳̯̹͓̼̳n̹g͎̥͍͇̜͚, ̞b̠̤͉u̫͖̜̯̮͉ṭ̩͉ I͙͕͈̲’͓ṃ̺ ͕͕̲̯̯̙m̺̺̭̯e̥r̥̦̻̥ͅe̳̳̬̫l̝̯̺̭̼̝̰y̫͖ ͇͈a͖̗̙n͈̼͈̫ͅ ̯̬͔͖͙o̗̞̰̝ḇ̼̲̯̘̣s̲̲̝̜er͚̝̥ͅv̹̯̩͖͓e̞̰̲r͓̜. ̼̼̰̯̫͔S̫o ̥̪pl̼̼̲̠̳̩̺e̺͇͈͇͕̼ͅa̙s̺͙e̻̮͇͚͙̯ ̯͓̹̤d͉o͍̬̰ s̮̫̰̥̰̭̪o̰m͉̳̘͍͈e̩̳̬̦̰͍t̲̞̳͍̳h̭̺i̳͍̮̰̘n͔͍g̥̗̠̞͉ͅ,̭͉͙̰̙̭ͅ a͖͚n̹̪̫̗͍͚y̖t̙̲̪̯͇͇͙h̜̥̗̼̰̰i̪̦̩̞̪͎̫ng̹ͅ.̥̼̲̻͙    
  
L̠͔͉e͎̻͚̩̞̝av̳̼͍͉͉̭̠i̩̱n̞̭g̟̙ ̝͙̣̺̖̟͖t̩̝͙h̖̝͎̻͖̬ẹ̗̗̳̘ͅm̹̳ ͔̪͉̤̭l̟̩̰̰i͓ke̥̗̥̹̪̹ ͙͙͈t̥͎̯̭̜h̻̫i̫s̘̟̪̬,̞͚͙͇̗ ̬un̪a̞̫͓̘̹̻͙b̩͕̜lḙ̫̜ ̺͔̯͚̗̹to̤̺̗̘͙͙ ̺͈̖̪m̙o̝̜̲͕̰v̳ͅe ̮̲͉̯o̹̻̠͉̰̹ṇ̦͉̤ ̮̜t̗̗̯̼̮̙̙ọ̠̤̱͕w͔̲͚a͙̲̖͙͉r̳̪͙̳̥͈d̹̮s̺̹̻̹͚̬ ̟͈͉͇͈t̖he̠̜̮͈͚̱͚i͉r͖̲̥̤̱͙ ̦̳̘f̜̟͈ụ̮t̬̬̼u̮̹̗̼r̦̫ḙ̝̟̗̬̱,̗ ̦̮͎͓͇̙̗is̟͇ ̤̘̖͕͎c̠̖̟̙̝̮͖r͕u̩̱e̺̥͓̺̩͍l̜̺͉ͅ…̣̖̗ ̖̳I̠ ̺̣̹t̻͖h͙in͇̝̥̻k͇͈̜̻̥̥͙.̯͙͕̬͕̰̮   
  
̳̣͔̗͎̭̻D͇̝͖o͙̥̼̹͈n͕̥̱͈̰̗’̘t̮̱ ̹̼̟̟y̟̜̘̳͇̮o͓͉̬̹̼̠͖u͇͖͓̫̝͓ ̭͙͖͔̥̥ṭ̫̖̙͈̤h̤̖̰̯̱͙i͉͎͈nk̙ ̤̳͓̯̭sọ ̝t̯o̝͈̫͔̟̪o̮̼…̞͙̞͖ ̲̦̙͖H̬̺i̖̙̯͇n͈̲͈̫̺̪͔a͔̮̫̬̰̦͖t̹a͉̘̞͎̞̹-̺̳k͎͍u̝̭͙̜ͅn̯͇̘̙͔?̞̲̭

* * *

  
For the first time in the last seven years, the screen blinked to life. The technician frowned, peering close to the program, frowning when the error message flashed, but as soon as she opened the file, it corrupted itself, and all she was able to see where jumbled letters around scrawls that barely even made any sense. 

"Is there a problem, Iruma-san?" her partner asked as he walked and handed her some coffee, his robotic eyes peering curiously at the message she's been trying to tap to life. But the program was frozen.  _ What the fuck. _

Iruma bit her lip, playing uneasily with her short strawberry blonde hair as she did so. "Call Hinata-san," she decided, glancing at the two ~~boys~~  men still sleeping in their pods, the monitors beside them showing their weak pulse. She huffed under her breath. Those two fucktards better not be kicking the bucket. She swore she won't allow it, no matter how long it took. She sighed

"I have a bad feeling about this."   


**Author's Note:**

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